In Extremis
by LadyWallace
Summary: During a daring rescue while in Rome, Aziraphale and Crowley end up on the wrong side of some slavers who want retribution—and money. When Aziraphale ends up in the Colosseum to fight as a gladiator he thinks it's all over, but he might just find help from an unexpected quarter.


**This is a commission fic for Tessseagul who wanted Ancient Rome, Crowley and Aziraphale saving children and gladiators. Hope you enjoy this!**

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In Extremis

A Good Omens Fanfic

_During a daring rescue while in Rome, Aziraphale and Crowley end up on the wrong side of some slavers who want retribution—and money. When Aziraphale ends up in the Colosseum to fight as a gladiator he thinks it's all over, but he might just find help from an unexpected quarter._

This had been a terrible idea from the start.

Well, not entirely, Aziraphale supposed; after all, they _were_ saving children and that couldn't possibly be a bad thing, but the plan itself left a little to be desired.

"Would you hurry up, angel?" hissed his companion urgently.

Aziraphale bit his lip. "Yes, I'm coming."

Mainly he wasn't sure about the fact that he was working with the demon Crowley. Yes, they had consistently been meeting purely on accident and, well, _not _thwarting each other, but Aziraphale still wasn't entirely sure _what_ that really meant and it wasn't like _not_ thwarting was the same thing as working together. Though sometimes, their…understanding call it—worked out quite all right for things like this, really.

Aziraphale had just been about to leave Rome on orders to go to Britain, when the demon, who he thought had left Rome days ago, had found him, looking a little urgent.

"Whatever is it?" Aziraphale had asked.

"Well, you see, there's this bunch of kids…" Crowley had explained that a group of slavers in town had a bunch of children they were planning on shipping off to the salt mines the next morning. The salt mines meant certain death to anyone—hard to work and had the tendency to turn one mad. Aziraphale had been shocked at the idea that someone, even slavers, would think to throw children in one, but then, humans never ceased to surprise him with their cruelty.

"Look, I can't…go around saving kids. Can get into a lot of trouble for that." Crowley looked down as if he had indeed gotten into trouble for the same thing before. "But if I take out the guards, do the bad bit, then you can go in and save the kids—do the good bit. Then neither of us will get in trouble with the bosses."

And of course, Aziraphale had agreed because they were _children_, which led to him creeping through the night with the demon with no real plan but that Crowley would take out the guards and Aziraphale would be the one to actually do the rescuing.

They were currently crouched behind a low wall that led to the place the kids were being kept. There wasn't so much a guard as a man sitting half-drunk outside the door.

"We could just go in," Aziraphale said.

"More inside," Crowley told him. "Look, you head around the back and wait for me to open the door for you."

Aziraphale nodded, and the two slipped off into the night, Crowley blending in a lot better with his dark clothing. Aziraphale tripped a bit on his toga as he hurried along in a slight crouch. He felt, rather than saw, Crowley roll his eyes and yanked the material up indignantly. This was certainly not one of his favorite pieces of clothing.

He slipped around the back of the building where there was a door and watched as Crowley disappeared around to where the front was. He wondered what the demon would do and suddenly had the fear that Crowley would kill them. He certainly didn't want to be part of any plan that involved people, even slavers, being killed.

But he heard the low murmur of voices and, after a few more minutes, some thumps and then, after a couple minutes more, the door opened and startled Aziraphale.

"Well, come on, angel," Crowley hissed.

Aziraphale stepped inside and gasped as he saw bodies on the floor. "Oh, Crowley, tell me you didn't kill them!"

"Relax, they're just asleep," Crowley muttered. "Now _come on."_

Aziraphale hurried after him and toward the barred door at the back of the building where at least twenty children were crammed into a small cell. They looked frightened at the appearance of the two supernatural beings, so Aziraphale smiled, trying to reassure them.

"Hello there. Don't you worry, we'll have you out of there soon enough." He snapped his fingers and the lock on the door broke, and the door swung open. He stepped inside, and then noticed that all the children were locked to a chain, manacles around each of their ankles.

"Oh, just a moment," he said and reached down to touch the chain. He gave it a slight flick and the chain and manacles rattled open to the ground and the children looked up in shock and perhaps a little fear at the angel. Crowley stepped forward and beckoned to them.

"Come on, we're getting you out of here!"

Finally, a little boy stood up and the rest followed, trooping out of the cell as Aziraphale and Crowley herded them into a group.

"Everyone out? Good, good," the angel said, then turned to the demon with a hiss. "Now where are we taking them?"

"I know a place," Crowley said. "They'll be safe. And there's someone there who can find out where they belong, or if they don't have anywhere, find somewhere for them to go."

Aziraphale nodded and motioned for Crowley to lead the way, when there was the sound of a door shutting and a voice called out.

"Septimus? Porcius? Where the hell are you?"

"Damn," Crowley muttered. "There must have been more at the house."

Two pairs of footsteps could be heard coming their way and Aziraphale looked around, making a sudden decision as he reached to one of the unconscious guards and gingerly slid his sword from its sheath.

Crowley's eyes widened. "What are you going to do with that?"

Aziraphale looked at it helplessly. "Cause a distraction, I suppose."

"Wot?"

"Look, you know where you're taking the children, get them out of here. I'll hold them off."

Crowley looked skeptical. "You? With that?"

"I know how to use a sword," Aziraphale said indignantly.

"Oh, that's right, _losing_ them was always your problem."

"I gave it…oh never mind. Just go!"

"I heard something in here," a voice called from the other room and Aziraphale practically pushed Crowley toward the door where the children were huddled in fear.

"Go!" he hissed.

Crowley nodded and opened his arms to usher the kids outside. "Come on, let's go!"

The kids hurried out, Crowley behind them, and Aziraphale just barely shut the door behind them before two men barged into the room, swords raised. Aziraphale whipped around with his own weapon up. The two men stopped, frowning at the bodies on the floor then at Aziraphale when they saw he was alone, and then their eyes widened as they saw the children were missing from the cell behind him.

"What is going on?" One man, who seemed to be the one in charge, demanded. "Who are you?"

"Me? Oh, er, no one of consequence, I assure you," Aziraphale stuttered.

"What did you do with those slaves?" the other man demanded, gesturing with his sword.

"Slaves? What slaves?" Aziraphale tried bluffing, but he had always been terrible at it.

"You know what I think?" the leader asked in a low, dangerous voice. They both advanced, forcing Aziraphale to back up, his sword held out in front of him. "I think you work for Maximus and he thought he could send you here to steal our property for his own profit."

"What? No! I would never work with slavers," Aziraphale said indignantly. But his back was not pressed against the bars of the cage and he had nowhere to go unless he miracled himself away.

"You know what I think?" the other man asked, a nasty smirk on his face. "A man goes for a bit of money to the Colosseum. It's only fair, after all, him losing us all that money. He can start to pay it back."

"Oh, oh no, that's not…I'm not a warrior," Aziraphale tried to protest, trying to find a way to get out of this.

"That's all right. There's plenty of other things they can use you for if that doesn't work out, I'm sure," the second man said with a leer as he lunged forward and lashed out with his sword.

Aziraphale blocked the blow and staggered back, only to crash into the other man from behind.

An arm snaked around his neck, and he fought, but the other man grabbed his sword arm and slammed it against the bars of the cell door. Aziraphale cried out as he lost his grip on the sword.

A fist was slammed into his stomach and he folded over with a gasp. Another was smashed into his face and he saw stars. He felt blood drip from his nose.

"Don't damage him too much," said the man still holding Aziraphale. "They won't want him if he looks all thrashed. Get the chains."

Before Aziraphale could do anything else, his hands and feet were clamped into manacles and he was being dragged outside to a cart and thrown in the back. He looked around for any chance of escape, highly disgruntled.

He really should have known better than to get involved with one of Crowley's plans. And yet…well, he really just hoped that Crowley was able to get the children to safety.

Now he just had to figure out how to get himself out of his current bind.

* * *

_Crowley hurried the children_ through the dark streets, looking back once toward the compound to see the two slavers dragging Aziraphale outside in chains and loading him into the cart. Crowley stiffened. Stupid angel. Not that it was any of his problem but…well, it would be rather rude of him to have gotten Aziraphale into this in the first place and then let him get captured. If he were to get discorporated it would be a lot of paperwork back at the home office, and Crowley wouldn't wish that on anyone. Well, that wasn't entirely true; he would love for that to happen to Hastur. But not to someone he didn't even see as an enemy.

He heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes before turning back around and urging the kids forward again, leading them through the dark streets toward the place of safety.

Once he got there and dropped them off, making sure they were safe and comfortable, he put out his feelers for the only angelic presence in the city. It didn't take him long even in the vastness of Rome. It also didn't hurt that Aziraphale had been taken to one of the city's biggest landmarks.

"You do get yourself into the worst scrapes, angel," Crowley muttered to himself as he peered around a wall and watched as money changed hands and Aziraphale was shoved into those of the lanista, the man who looked after the gladiators and oversaw their training. The angel was protesting indignantly, but all he got for it was a whack with the lanista's cane before he was hauled inside and the slavers parted ways, counting their ill-gotten-gains.

On the one hand, Crowley now had a way to spin his miracleing the slavers unconscious to the home office. Think of the commendations he would get for making it so that an angel ended up in the Colosseum!

Though, he also made plans to make sure the next boat those slavers got on didn't make it to its destination. Freak weather could happen at any time.

But that was beside the point. Despite Aziraphale's indignant insistence that he could use a sword, Crowley was sure he would never actually raise it against a human, especially to save his own life, which meant that someone was going to have to help the idiot angel.

And that someone was going to have to be Crowley because there was no one else who would.

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_Aziraphale sat gingerly_ on the filthy bunk in the cell he had been put in. He could not believe he was in the Colosseum. He knew, deep down, that he probably shouldn't have expected any other outcome working with a demon and yet, they had gotten the children out and _Crowley_ had been the one to suggest saving them in the first place. Aziraphale had begun to wonder if the demon was really all bad, and suspected that was pretty far from the truth.

Normally, he would have been able to get out of here no problem but…well, in all honesty he couldn't really risk using any more miracles, especially ones he would have to explain. Truthfully, he wasn't even supposed to still be in Rome. He was supposed to have left two weeks ago, but…well, there had been so many sights to see and the food and wine were glorious. And Britain was so cold and wet and left everything to be desired in the culinary department. No one had even told him what he was supposed to do there yet, which meant that it would most likely be an awfully long mission. Frankly, Aziraphale was willing to wait to go there until it became more civilized.

Now he wished he had gone when he had been told to. It would be even more horrible if he were to be discorporated in a fight and have to explain how it happened and why he had still been in Rome. Gabriel certainly wouldn't be happy. It might be decades, centuries even, before Aziraphale was given a new body and the thought of hanging around Heaven that long made him sigh.

Why did he always have to get himself into these kinds of situations?

He sat in that cell for an awfully long time debating whether to stay the way he was, or to bugger all and get himself out of here and just deal with the fallout later.

But he was interrupted in his thoughts when the lanista stopped in front of his door along with a slave who had a plate of food. The door was opened and Aziraphale was on his feet.

"Please, there's been a misunderstanding. I really shouldn't be here, and I must be going!" Aziraphale tried.

The lanista glowered at him and whipped his cane up, pressing it hard into Aziraphale's shoulder to make him sit back down. "You're not going anywhere. You're mine now, and I have the papers to prove it. Paid way more than I should have for you too. Pretty boy like you isn't going to last long out there, but I suppose you'll prove a decent enough day's entertainment. And if not, I'm sure we'll find something else to do with you."

Aziraphale straightened his shoulders indignantly. "Now, see here, I do know how to use a sword!"

The lanista raised an eyebrow, putting on a mockingly impressed air. "Do you now? Well, you might have a bit of a chance at survival then. The bets are on how long you survive without a spear in your liver, not about who will win—no contest there. Now eat up, you'll be out there in a couple of hours."

The slave shoved a bowl into Aziraphale's hands before retreating with the lanista again, leaving Aziraphale alone.

He looked down at the gruel and set it aside with distaste. This situation was just looking more and more dire. How was he to get out of this without using miracles?

It wasn't long before they came back for him. He was given a tunic and armor which he put on reluctantly—he didn't really see the point, after all. And then he was brought over to the gates that led out into the arena.

A sword was put into his hand and the lanista clapped him on the shoulder.

"At least make it worth my money."

Aziraphale gave him a rather dirty look then clamped his helmet on before being shoved out into the arena. He stumbled, and sand was already getting into his sandals.

The crowd 'booed' him instantly.

"Well, that's not very nice," he muttered.

There was a grinding sound from the other side of the arena, and a gate opened.

The crowd cheered as a huge gladiator stepped out, raising his sword to the cheering people with a primal shout.

"Bugger," Aziraphale muttered, adjusting his grip on his sword. This was not good. How was he going to get out of this? Even on his best day, he knew he wasn't skilled enough to fight a warrior without divine intervention.

So, until he could think of a plan that didn't involve a miracle—at least not a direct one—retreat might be the best tactic in this situation.

Retreat looked pretty good when 275 pounds of warrior were bearing down on you.

Aziraphale staggered back, ducking just in time to miss the sword that was swinging over his head, creating a high-speed wind of its own. He let out a small sound as he launched to one side, skidding in the dirt.

The crowd jeered, and Aziraphale yelped, having to roll to one side as the gladiator stabbed downward.

A heavy hobnailed boot slammed into Aziraphale's back and he scrambled to his feet as it rose again, this time presumably to smash into his head. Being on the ground was a very bad idea.

He whipped his sword up and lashed out with it. The gladiator seemed so surprised that he had actually attacked that Aziraphale was able to score a slice across the man's arm.

The gladiator looked down at the bleeding cut as Aziraphale backed away. "Oh, er, sorry about that. Nothing personal, you know? Just survival…"

The gladiator growled and surged forward, slamming his foot into Aziraphale's stomach and sending him sprawling on the ground with a heavy _oomph_.

Aziraphale's helmet fell off and rolled away so he could see an uninterrupted image of the gladiator bearing down on him. He tried to get his sword up, but the gladiator simply kicked it out of his hands. Aziraphale thought about miracleing it toward himself again for all the good it would do, but a shout came from behind the gladiator before he could make up his mind.

"Oi!"

A gasp went up through the crowd as another, very slim, gladiator strode up, reached up to grab the brawny warrior who about to kill Aziraphale by the shoulder before he could turn around, and then caused the gladiator to collapse, limp, to the ground.

Aziraphale pulled his legs up quickly so the man wouldn't fall on him, scrabbling for his sword, but the black-clad gladiator didn't make a move to stab him. Instead he sighed and reached up to lift his helmet a little, revealing a sharp chin and yellow eyes.

"Come on, angel! What are you waiting for?"

"Crowley?" Aziraphale asked, eyes widening in surprise.

"Yes, who did you think it was? Now let's go!"

Aziraphale scrambled to his feet, just as the lanista strode out with several guards.

"What is this? Who are you?" he demanded of Crowley. "How did you even get out here?"

Crowley cursed. "Time to go."

But three more gladiators poured out of the gates and the crowd started egging them on. The lanista gave up and simply waved at them.

"Take care of them. They're too much trouble," he said dismissively, and strode back out of the arena with the guards, obviously wanting to get as much entertainment as he could out of his misfortune.

Crowley groaned. "Damn it!"

"What do we do?" Aziraphale asked.

"Get your sword for starters!" Crowley hissed.

Aziraphale reached down to pick up the weapon. "We're not really going to kill them…"

"Not if we can help it," Crowley muttered reluctantly.

Aziraphale took a stance and swung the sword to test it. "It's a little unbalanced…"

"Focus, angel!"

"What is the plan?" Aziraphale asked.

"Er, don't have one," Crowley mumbled. "Didn't think that far."

Aziraphale sighed heavily and his eyes widened as the gladiators circled them and all decided to charge at once.

"Well, think fast!" he cried as he barely dodged a blow from a trident. It caught the hem of his tunic and ripped the fabric. Even though it wasn't his, Aziraphale took that personally, and lashed out with the sword.

He just missed the fact that the gladiator was also carrying a net, which at that very moment, was flying toward Aziraphale.

Its weighted edges wrapped around him, bearing him to the ground where he got a mouthful of sand.

"Oof! Crowley!" he coughed, wriggling like a caught fish as he looked up and saw the gladiator readying his trident to pin Aziraphale to the ground.

Crowley growled and Aziraphale heard the ring of steel before two bodies dropped to the ground. Then Crowley was between him and the retiarius, grabbing the haft of the trident inches before it impaled Aziraphale. He then did a complicated movement with his free hand and in another second, Aziraphale was free of the net, and the gladiator was wriggling on the ground instead, crying out in shock at the reversal that was too sudden to be natural.

The crowd gasped, and some applauded. Crowley looked up, raising his sword above his head and got more cheers.

"Crowley, stop!" Aziraphale chided as he climbed to his feet, dusting himself off and grabbing the sword again. "We still need to get out of here."

"What, just having a little fun," the demon sulked.

They raced for the nearest exit, only to have it open and three lions pour out, licking their chops.

Crowley and Aziraphale staggered back and tried running the other way, only to be stopped by guards, leveling spears at them. Both the guards and the lions began to advance on them.

"Erm, I assume this wasn't part of the plan," Aziraphale said as he and Crowley got back to back, hemmed between two forces.

"I told you I didn't even have a plan to begin with," Crowley muttered.

"Oh, well, no harm then, I suppose," Aziraphale said with just a hint of sarcasm. One lion leapt forward, apart from the rest, snarling. "Oh, do stop!" Aziraphale told it sharply.

The lion snapped its jaws shut mid-snarl and stepped back, confused. The others stopped as well, and seemed to be contemplating their position.

"Hold on," Crowley murmured. "I think I have something."

The guards were advancing still, spears held at the ready.

"You two are under arrest," one of the guards said. "Put down the weapons."

"Yeah, yeah, all right," Crowley said, holding up his hands before he slowly lowered his sword toward the ground.

"Crowley, what are you doing?" Aziraphale demanded.

"Making a plan," Crowley muttered. "Get ready." He turned back to the guards. "Sorry, gents, didn't mean anything by it. I thought the arena was for fighting and all. Just showed up at the wrong time for my fight. Got a little confused…"

"Take your helmet off," another demanded. They were close now, surrounding the angel and the demon. Aziraphale looked down his nose at a spear pointing only a few inches from it.

"Alright, just—easy," Crowley said, still holding his hands out, palm up as he reached up to take off his helmet.

The second he raised it from his head, Crowley changed partly to his snake form, a horrifying image, and the guard screamed in terror, dropping his spear and leaping back.

The others reacted, but Crowley was already moving, grabbing Aziraphale's arm and yanking him away. "Time to go, angel!"

He turned to the lions and snapped his fingers. They leapt toward the guards who were distracted by the 'monster' and weren't ready for the beasts to attack.

Screams echoed behind them as Aziraphale and Crowley hurried out of the arena and through the back rooms, miraculously staying ahead of and avoiding anyone who tried to stop them. Miracles Aziraphale had nothing to do with.

"Oh, Crowley, that was rather terrible of you," Aziraphale gasped, glancing over his shoulder, before leaping over a stool that got knocked into their path.

"Relax," Crowley growled. "Everyone will be fine. Those lions are well fed, they just want to have a little playtime."

Aziraphale wasn't entirely reassured, but he didn't really have a choice in the matter. They made it out of the Colosseum and disappeared through the busy streets of Rome as the shouts of their pursuers were only a distant sound behind them.

They finally slowed, leaning against a wall in a rather filthy back alley, doubled over to catch their breath.

"You all right?" Crowley finally asked.

"Oh, just a few bruises. I'll be fine. You?"

Crowley nodded.

Aziraphale straightened up, cleared his throat. "Um, I suppose I should say thank you then."

"Y'don't have to," Crowley said with an eye roll.

"No, really," Aziraphale insisted. "I…you see, I'm not supposed to be here, and if I were to perform miracles I would be found out and…"

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Disobeying the rules a little, angel?"

"No!" Aziraphale said firmly, then blushed and looked away. "Just…bending the truth a little, perhaps."

Crowley smirked, and snapped his fingers, making a pair of darkened spectacles appear, which he put on, hiding his eyes. "Where are you supposed to be off to then?"

"Britain," Aziraphale sighed, snapping his own fingers and reverting his clothing back to the toga he had been wearing before with a bit of distaste. He hated pulling clothing from the ether. It always made him feel as if he were unclothed. It just didn't seem _real_. But there was really nothing for it at the moment.

"What a coincidence," Crowley said, raising his eyebrows. "I'm heading over there myself."

"Really?" Aziraphale frowned.

"Yeah, just got the orders, something about stirring up trouble with the locals," Crowley shrugged. "Probably whatever you're supposed to be thwarting. Good thing we both hung back otherwise one of us would have gotten a head start."

"Yes…fortunate," Aziraphale mused, then remembered. "Oh, the children!"

"Don't worry, they're all safe and sound," Crowley told him, then turned his head to one side, regarding the angel. "I only rescued you because you helped me get them out and got caught for it, y'know."

"Of course," Aziraphale nodded.

They stood there awkwardly for a moment before Crowley pushed away from the wall. "If we're both going to Britain, how about we have one last decent drink before we head out?"

"Oh, that sounds splendid," Aziraphale said happily. "My treat. You saving my life and all—that's only right," he added quickly.

Crowley nodded in agreement. "Sounds good to me."

They strode off into the bustling city to find the nearest wine shop. Maybe they would even have oysters.

And maybe they stayed in Rome a week yet before finally heading off to Britain. But what the home offices didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

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**If you want a commission fic, check out my Tumblr (at lady-wallace) for info or just send me a PM :)**


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